Aftermath
by Jaye Black
Summary: In the aftermath of the battle, Hermione tries to comfort George. [DH Spoilers.] [No ships.]


**A/N: **Oh, come on, you can't expect me not to write a fanfic about George Weasley after the brilliant bloodbath that was Deathly Hallows. I will tell you flat out that I bawled my bloody eyes out after I saw that Fred had died. I love that kid, and just thinking about how much George would be effected by that just broke my heart. I had to write this, in respect for the twins that JKR so cruelly ripped apart.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything but my words, my keyboard, and my shrine dedicated to the Marauders and the Weasley Twins, the best pranksters ever. …Er, wait, what?

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**Aftermath**

Two weeks.

It had been two, emotion-filled weeks since Harry had defeated Voldemort once and for all. Two weeks since the deaths of Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, and Fred Weasley. Two weeks that should have been filled with celebration, but instead were filled with grief.

Fred's death had taken its toll on everyone at the Burrow, obviously.

Mrs. Weasley had barely been able to stop crying. Mr. Weasley was barely home from work at the newly-reformed Ministry of Magic. Percy, Bill, and Charlie were gone. Ginny and Ron were in a depressed state that deeply affected anyone in the vicinity. Harry was quiet a lot, and I can't help but think—no, _know—_that he blames himself for what happened. And George…well, George was taking it the hardest of any of us, not that anyone saw him enough to notice this. He kept himself locked in the room that he had shared with his twin for the majority of their lives.

It was rather tragic; the few times that I did see George come out of his room, he was completely different. His face no longer held the laughter that I'd grown used to over the past seven years. On the contrary, he didn't have the air of mischief about him, or the twinkle in his eyes that let you know that he was up to something; his eyes were flat for the first time. He looked rather gaunt, as if he'd rarely eaten. He very, very rarely spoke, and when he did, he would hesitate every few words as if waiting for someone to finish off his sentence. He didn't smile. He didn't joke.

He seemed…empty.

This emptiness, I'm assuming, is partly because I can't really recall a time where I'd seen the twins separate. They were always together. They might as well have been joined. There wasn't Gred without Forge…and it felt terribly wrong to know that there would now have to be George without Fred. My heart went out to George, and several nights of those terrible weeks, I found myself silently crying myself to sleep over the Weasley Twins—because in all honesty, they had both been killed that night.

On one particular night, I found myself walking past his room for some reason. I can't remember the reason now, but I know that I ended up stopping at the sound of a voice. It was wrong, I knew, to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help it. Having evidence that the once comical twin was still breathing gave me comfort.

"So, Fred. Are you planning on coming back anytime soon? Because business is lacking, and things are pretty dull without you. Ron's no fun. Never was. Nobody's really in too great of a mood. 'Specially not me, because you're a git." I heard the sounds of him sharply exhaling. "I mean…why? Why'd _you _have to go? Could've been anyone else," he added with a mumble.

My ear was pressed to the door now, and my breath was caught. Part of me was screaming, _Hermione Jane Granger, how _dare _you? Can't you see that this is private? _But another part of me needed to keep listening.

"And…and if it couldn't have been anyone else…then why am I still here?" His voice had cracked painfully midway through this. "I mean…you're my best mate. My brother. My Gred to your Forge. Why did it have to be you?" He paused, and the silence was thick enough to hurt more than his words. "It's just…I'm on my own now…and I…I miss you…"

I couldn't take this much more. I couldn't listen to him hurt like this and not do a thing about it. I mean, yes, I've never been very close to the twins, but they're friends, in a way, and I can't let him suffer through this alone. I opened the door slowly, giving him time to shut it by magic if he wished to. Apparently, he didn't. I stepped forward, closing the door behind me, and then looked to him.

He was sitting on his bed, with one leg bent at the knee and one stretched across the quilt. His left arm was thrown carelessly across his propped-up knee, and his right was in a fist on his quilt. His head was tilted back, against his headboard. He was looking up to the ceiling, and only moved his eyes to glance at me. He said nothing.

"I—I…" I trailed off, and suddenly my spontaneous decision to comfort him didn't see quite so clever. "I just…" I bit my lip. This—this is what I get for spending too much time studying books and not enough time studying people. I have no idea what to say.

His brown eyes stayed trained on mine, waiting for me to say my piece. He didn't look curious. He looked blank. His eyes looked blank enough to have been Fred's eyes. The eyes that I'd seen when I'd seen Mrs. Weasley sobbing over her dead son, the one that she'd always pushed away. (The fact that she'd shoved Fred out of the way in favor of Percy in the Room of Requirement—the last time she'd seen him alive—came back to me in full clarity at moments like this.)

Warm trails were making their way down my cheeks, pouring out of my eyes. I could not take seeing this. Everything was supposed to be over now, and yet this wouldn't end. I couldn't fix things, and I couldn't do anything to bring Fred back.

I found myself with my arms thrown around George's neck and my head buried in his shoulder. Comfort, that's all I could do, comfort him. He didn't react as I sat there and hugged him until my arms went numb. At this point, I stood up and backed away, shakily rubbing the tears from my face. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed, before turning and walking to the door.

He was silent.

I reached the door and pulled it open. Just as it was about to close, I heard a voice—a hoarse version of George's voice. "Hermione?"

I looked back in through the door hesitantly. He had straightened his head, and was looking at me through the same blank eyes. "Y-yes?"

"Thank you," he said quietly.

I smiled sadly at him, tears pricking my eyes once again. "I'm sorry," I said again.

This time, he didn't stop me from leaving.

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Six days.

It had been six, emotion filled days since that moment that I had at the time believed to be such a breakthrough. Six days since I had spoken to George, even if for only a few minutes.

I'd often heard stories of twins, especially identical twins, who had been separated by death. The remaining twin sometimes was so disconnected, so overwhelmed with grief, that they died shortly afterwards. I didn't realize that this happened until I walked upstairs to check on George, and instead found him motionless, with his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face.

I didn't cry from sadness, or from grief. A single tear rolled down my face, but it hit the upturned corner of my mouth, hit my smile.

I'm not heartless, I swear to you—I really do wish that Fred and George were still here. I really am terribly sad over the loss of them both.

But after seeing those dead, emotionless, blank eyes looking back at me—I knew that this was for the better. I knew that this was the only way the George would ever be happy. I knew that this way, he would smile. This way, he would joke. This way, he would laugh. This way, his eyes would sparkle with mischief. This way, he wouldn't be empty.

This way, in the aftermath of death, he wouldn't be blank.

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**A/N:** Well, I hope you guys enjoyed this! It's a bit short, and it's definitely feels different than the other stuff I've written, but I hope that it's a good change. So, if you liked it, or if you didn't, then drop a review and let me know. :-) 


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